by Sharon Shinn
“Captain?” Davey called. “What’s the situation?”
At that salutation, Jasper Paladar immediately stuck his head out of the window. “Willa? What’s happening?”
Karryn’s head appeared right under his. “Willa? Thank the Silver Lady, you’re alive! Who were those men? Are we safe now?”
She came close enough to answer them all. “I think we’re safe—we’ve fended off this attack, at any rate. Our advance guard is missing and one of the others is down, so we might have lost two guards, and the coachman is dead as well. But we faced nine, so we gave a good accounting of ourselves.”
Now Serephette’s pale face poked between Jasper’s and Karryn’s. “Who were these people?” Serephette demanded. “What did they want from us?”
Wen met Jasper’s eyes and he gave a slight shake of his head. “We don’t know yet,” she said. “Unfortunately, none of them are left alive, so we can’t ask them. We’ll search their bodies and see if we learn anything about their identities.”
“You said two of the guards were injured or missing,” Karryn asked. “Which ones?”
“Karryn, dear,” Serephette said reprovingly, but Wen was glad Karryn asked.
“Malton’s hurt and we don’t know what happened to Garth.”
“Should we put Malton in the coach?” Karryn said next.
This was cause for another “Karryn!” from Serephette, but Wen liked the suggestion. “Maybe. Depends on how badly he’s injured.”
“I could ride his horse,” Karryn offered. “To make room for him.”
The suggestion actually made Wen smile, something she hadn’t expected to do on this bleak day. “If nothing else, this little incident proved that you should stay safely inside the coach,” Wen said. “All of you.”
From the other side of the carriage, she heard Amie’s voice raised in a call. “Captain?”
She nodded at Karryn and the others. “Stay inside,” she repeated, and pulled the gelding around to check on Malton.
The big man was sitting up, though he looked woozy, and there was blood all over his face and chest. But she was so happy to see him more or less whole that she found herself grinning as she slid out of the saddle. Amie had bound up the more obvious wounds on his arm and shoulder, but there was a cut across his forehead that looked like it would need stitching when they got someplace they could fetch a physician.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Like death came knocking,” he replied in his slow voice.
She made her voice provocative. “The serramarra says if you’re gravely injured, she’ll give you her seat in the coach and ride your horse home.”
At that, even his placid face showed alarm. “She can’t ride! She’d be a target!”
“That’s what I told her. But can you sit a horse?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“He could sit on the driver’s bench next to Davey,” Amie suggested.
Malton nodded. “I think I could manage that.”
“What about the coachman?” Amie wanted to know.
“Dead,” Wen replied.
“And Garth?” Malton asked.
“Orson’s looking for him. But—” She shrugged expressively then came to her feet. “In any case, no use lingering here. Let’s get going.”
Amie was slim, but strong enough to help the much heavier Malton back to the coach. Wen remounted her gelding and joined Eggles and Cal, who had returned from inspecting the bodies. “Good swords, well-used, well-cared-for,” Eggles said. “And plenty of gold in their pockets.”
“Definitely not bandits,” she said.
He was watching her. “And the archers were specialists,” he said. “Excellent shots, but not very handy with a sword.”
She nodded. “I noticed that.”
“Hired to kill,” he added, in case she hadn’t put the pieces together.
“Right.”
“They didn’t have any insignia,” Cal added. “No way to know who hired them.”
“I’m hoping Karryn’s uncle might be able to help us figure that out,” Wen said.
“You mean you don’t have a theory?” Eggles asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know how the gentry think,” she said.
“But you’ve always believed Karryn was in danger,” he prodded. “That’s why you hired us. You’re not surprised this happened. You’ve been expecting it.”
She eyed him soberly. Orson hadn’t come out and said it, but that was obviously what he’d been thinking, too. “Karryn’s a vulnerable girl in a position that a lot of people covet,” Wen said quietly. “I haven’t been expecting anything specific. I just don’t trust people in general, I suppose. I expect them to look around, and find a weaker opponent, and take what they want. I wanted to even the odds a little if it ever happened to Karryn.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t say I’m happy to have my worst fears realized. But damn, I’m happy that we were good enough to fight back. I’m happy we were strong enough to win.”
“And stronger next time,” Eggles said quietly. “It toughens a man up when he’s in a real fight. You don’t kill him right off, he’ll beat you if he ever sees you again.” He nodded at Cal, glanced over at Amie and Davey, all of them too young to have the depth of experience he and Orson and Wen had. “This lot will be even better next time someone tries to take them down.”
And there’s always a next time, when you’re a soldier, Wen thought. Anytime you’re prepared to fight, there’s always a fight in your future. “Let’s get everybody safely home before we start congratulating ourselves too much,” she said.
“Orson’s not back with Garth yet,” Cal said.
“I know. Let’s get the coach moving and go look for them.”
The coachman’s body was lashed to the roof and the soldiers were quickly redistributed. Malton sprawled next to Davey, Moss and Eggles mounted the extra horses, and they were on their way. Wen hated not to have a rear guard, especially since it had proved so useful in this particular fight, but everyone was so spooked that she wanted to keep them all together, riding as tightly around the coach as the terrain allowed. She dropped back just enough to be able to command a broader view of the oncoming road, unimpeded by the carriage. More risky territory ahead—more of those undulating curves through low hills and clumps of trees.
Surely if they were attacked again, it would not be by professionals focused on killing. It would be by starving outlaws desperate for food or money—easy enough to stave off or appease. Whoever had hired this particular troop had paid a high dollar for skilled men who would fight to the death; surely no one could afford to set up two such ambushes along the same lonely stretch of road.
But Wen kept watching, just in case.
About a mile later, they came across Orson kneeling at the side of the road beside a bundle of cloth and leather that had to be Garth. Wen felt a quickening of hope. If Garth had been dead, Orson wouldn’t be so intent. She waved to the other guards to keep a close circle around the coach as it halted, but she and Moss spurred over and dismounted.
“He’s alive?” she demanded, dropping to the dirt.
“Barely,” Orson said. “Arrow through his chest, but high. Might have nicked a lung.” He gave her a serious look and a shrug. “Don’t know if he can be saved.”
A voice spoke behind them, spinning Wen around on her knees. “Well, we can’t leave him here to die.”
“Karryn! Get back in the coach!” Wen exclaimed, springing to her feet.
But Karryn wore her intractable look. “Only if you put Garth in first.”
Orson looked up at her, his expression unreadable. “Serra, he might die on the journey.”
“If he dies because he was defending me, then I ought to be there to witness it,” Karryn said. Her voice wavered, but her determination did not.
Orson nodded. “Let’s wrap him in a blanket first.”
It was an excruciating—and excruciatingly slow—exercis
e to bind the wounded man, bundle him into a blanket and insert him into the vehicle without slamming his broken body against the doorjamb or the seat. Serephette was distressed and disapproving, though she didn’t actively try to impede them. Jasper was sober and silent and helped when he could.
“I can’t think he will survive the rest of the trip,” Jasper said to Wen in a low voice.
Wen shook her head. “I can’t either. But I am so impressed that Karryn wants to take him in.”
Karryn, in fact, was receiving advice from Moss about what she might do to ease the hurt man if he gained consciousness or began bleeding through the rough bandages Orson had applied. Wen added, “She’ll ruin her dress, of course. I wonder if she remembers that she’s expecting Lindy to come over this afternoon.”
Jasper, like Wen, was watching Karryn with a small, satisfied smile. “I wonder if she cares.”
As soon as Garth was settled, the nobles climbed back into the carriage, the three of them crowding together on one seat. Wen waved the guards back to their places. “Move out! And keep a lookout. We aren’t home yet.”
Back on the road, Davey tried to compromise between speed and caution, guiding the carriage around the worst of the ruts and constantly apologizing to Malton for the roughness of the ride. Moss trotted right next to the carriage, calling advice to Karryn through the window. Wen figured as long as Moss was talking, Garth was still alive. She signaled Eggles to fall back to take the rear position and urged her horse past the coach so she could confer with Orson, riding point.
“That tavern we stopped at on the way out,” she said. “Could we leave Garth there?”
His eyebrows rose. “Maybe. They had rooms to rent upstairs. We could leave Moss behind with him. She’s had some training in the sickroom.”
She met his eyes. “Then we’d be down to seven. Six if you discount Malton.”
He held her gaze a long moment before returning his attention to the road ahead. “You expect a second attack?”
“I wasn’t expecting a first one.”
“No,” he contradicted her. “You’re always expecting one. You just don’t know when it’s going to come.”
She acknowledged that with a shrug. Her life was one long series of contingencies. If and then. If an attack comes from the right, then I will duck to the left. If a man tries to cleave my head open, then I will feint to the side. If an assassin attempts to kill the king . . .
. . . Then my life is over.
“I can’t decide about leaving Moss behind,” she said. “Let’s see what the situation is at the tavern. We might get lucky.”
They did. Wen and Orson left the others with the coach when they stepped inside to inquire into amenities. The tavernkeeper remembered them from their earlier visit, and he was obsequiously eager to show honor to the serramarra and her entourage.
“Certainly—we would be extremely happy to keep the serra’s guard!” the proprietor exclaimed. “How badly is he injured? My daughter-in-law is a healer—a mystic, you know.” He then looked nervous at having let that secret slip, for mystics were still widely reviled in Fortunalt. “Unless the serra would prefer we practice no magic upon one of her men,” he added hastily.
“The serra would prefer anything that keeps her men alive,” Wen said. “In fact, she keeps two mystics in her employ. Times have changed since her father was marlord.”
The tavernkeeper brightened even more at this news. Wen wondered if he had a grandchild or two who had also shown evidence of mystic blood. He might not feel much affection for a sorcerous daughter-in-law, but a grandson? A man could be expected to fight hard for his own flesh and blood.
“I will send for her right away,” he said. “She can be here within the hour.”
Wen nodded. “Good. Then we will bring our friend inside. And leave some funds with you to cover the cost of his care.”
Naturally, it was just as tricky to move Garth out of the carriage as into it, and then they had to negotiate the narrow halls behind the taproom. Karryn, to Wen’s admiration and dismay, insisted on accompanying the fallen soldier to his temporary infirmary and then personally thanking the proprietor, while handing over an impressive pile of coins.
“I will send someone back for him tomorrow,” Karryn promised the tavernkeeper as Wen tried to encourage her toward the door. “Thank you again for your hospitality.”
At last they were on the road again, moving at a somewhat more rapid pace. Malton had fallen into an uneasy sleep and sunset was less than an hour away. At this rate, full dark would arrive while they were still on the road.
“As fast as you can go without tiring the horses overmuch,” Wen instructed Davey, and he urged them to somewhat greater speed.
She had a hard time remembering the last time she had so desperately wanted to be home.
Chapter 29
THREE HOURS LATER, THEY WERE SAFELY INSIDE FORTUNE’S hedge. Karryn’s mother had swept her into the mansion without letting her pause to speak to her guards again. Malton had been carried to the barracks, where Eggles and Moss treated him rather more thoroughly and expressed their opinion that he would be fine as long as his wounds didn’t get infected. The soldiers left behind had been filled in on the events of the day, most of them expressing a little envy at having missed out on the excitement. Wen reshuffled the planned watches, for those who had had escort duty needed a break, but the house and grounds still needed to be patrolled.
They all devoured Ginny’s meal as if it was a banquet served for the queen herself. “Who will go to look after Garth?” Ginny asked as she sat beside Wen to join them for the meal.
“Moss is going back tomorrow, and maybe Davey,” Wen said.
“I don’t suppose you have any magic in you,” Davey asked Ginny, flirting a little. “Like your brother does. Only what we need right now is a healer, not a reader.”
Ginny tossed back her red braid. “I don’t. But I did a lot of the nursing back on my mother’s farm.”
“Good. Then you can come with us,” he said.
Orson speared another slice of meat and dropped it on his plate. “From what I hear, Moss’s magic is what saved us this afternoon,” he said. “I’m sorry I was riding so far in the rear I missed that.”
Moss made a small motion with her right hand, as if to brush aside her importance, but Wen could tell she was pleased. Moss was sitting beside Orson, and Wen thought her left hand might be resting on his thigh under the table. That was what a brush with death did for you—it made you want to draw closer to the people for whom you felt a strong affection. Moss said, “I didn’t even think. I saw the arrows coming and I made them stop. I hadn’t even realized I could do that.”
Wen toasted Moss with her glass and the rest of the guards followed suit. “Orson’s right. Without your magic, we’d have lost more than a coachman. We’d have seen three or four of the guards go down—maybe more.”
“I wish I knew how to turn the arrows around and fling them right back at the archers,” Moss said.
She sounded so bloodthirsty that Orson laughed. “Guess you ought to start practicing that very thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “I’ll help you out—I’m not bad with a bow. But you better not stick any arrows in me.”
